Drifting Through Time
by ShatteredRhapsody
Summary: Everyone knew that Luna Lovegood could see things. Just how far she could see was the question. Magic never applied to the Lovegoods the same way it applied to everyone else. Drabble fic, relatively in linear order. Inspired by 's word of the day.
1. Contiguous

con·tig·u·ous  
Adjective  
1) touching; in contact.  
2) in close proximity without touching; near.  
3) adjacent in time: _contiguous events_

Thorin was young when he first saw the ghostly apparition pass through the treasury; his family's kingdom was prosperous in food and riches. His cousin, Glóin, was a well-trusted banker and was showing him where the jewels their people crafted were deposited. He had just passed a hill of what looked like sapphires when a small child of man peeked around the hill. She was small and frail-looking. Then again most creatures that weren't of dwarven origin tended to look weak. She had pale blonde hair and glassy blue eyes.

"Hullo," her soft voice drifted towards him like flowers on a breeze.

"How did you get here, little one?"

The rest of her emerged and she wore an odd-looking garb. It was a cross between a dress of some kind and a robe; it was the color of the sky at dusk, all hues of oranges, reds, and faint hints of purple.

"I f'llowed m'mama," she mumbled as her tiny hand fit into his as he led her away from the cold of the treasury.

Thorin shrugged off his outer coat to wrap it around her. She was no apparition as her touch was real, but by Aulë was she tiny! Not even dwarflings were ever so small.

"Where is your mother now?" He wasn't aware of any dignitaries of Man that were to be visiting the mountain; Balin would have mentioned it to him at breakfast today.

"Oh! There she is!" The child pointed to nothing in particular before she slipped out of the coat and took off running. "Mama!"

"Wait!" He followed after her and watched as she faded and vanished before his very eyes.


	2. Triumvirate

tri·um·vi·rate  
Noun  
1) any group or set of three.  
2) any association of three in office or authority.

It wasn't an often occurrence that the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood would come for a visit in the Greenwood. Nor was it an often occurrence for them to sit for tea with King Thranduil and his son. And it was certainly rare for said son to spill tea all over the front of his tunic because he thought he was hallucinating.

"Ada! There's a child in the room!"

"Legolas...are you _sure _you're drinking tea?"

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Ada, I'm sure. But this is not a jest! There's a child wearing a dress like the night sky and she's hiding behind Lady Galadriel's chair!"

Thranduil's eyes snapped open at that. His son had better not be trying to embarrass him in front of important people again. But his words triggered something; a whispered rumor that was slowly making its way across the kingdom of Erebor and the Greenwood: a ghost child who wore odd clothes and lingered near royalty.

"Why, hello there, little one. Wandered from your mother again, have we?" Galadriel spoke softly as a small hand tugged on the ends of her hair. She knew of this child since her presence felt odd to her the first time she visited Middle Earth. When Galadriel had glimpsed what looked like the ghost of a child in her mirror, she started to pay more attention to the happenings near the Lonely Mountain.

"Not on purpose!" A small voice piped up as the child stepped into full view.

She was a child of man, much like the rumors promised, although she appeared older than what was said. This was a child of at least seven winters; the rumors said she had to be at least four winters during her first appearance, but that was months ago.

Celeborn knelt beside the strange girl and ran a gentle hand over her pale locks of hair. "And what brings you to us, little moon?" For that's what she looked like, wearing a dress of the night sky with her pale skin and hair lightly glowing.

Thranduil was also curious to hear why she came to his kingdom and not the dwarves'. He also was curious to why it was Legolas who noticed her first, and not himself or the others.

The child giggled softly and pulled away from Celeborn. She skipped towards Thranduil and Legolas, her feet barely touching the ground as she launched herself at the King to climb into his lap. Thranduil was a bit stunned since he honestly couldn't remember the last time he had one so small sitting on him.

"They 'ave hair like mine and mama's! But theirs is so much more pretty!" She gave Thranduil's locks a quick tug before she left his lap to poke at Legolas' sides. When he looked down at her, she smiled toothily and blinked her cloudy blue eyes at him. "We'll play next time won't we, brother?"

Before he could even form a reaction, she tilted her head as if she were listening to something and with a quick nod, she ran towards the direction of the sound, leaving the three Elvish rulers and a sputtering princeling behind.


	3. Phenom

phe·nom  
noun; _slang__  
_a phenomenon, especially a young prodigy: a twelve-year-old tennis phenom.

Luna couldn't remember when she realized the games and adventures she pretended to have were real. If she had to pin-point her sharpest memory, she'd pick the first time she saw her mother perform magic. Now, she was positive she'd seen her parents perform magic before, but nothing like the magic her mother played with. And her mother did like to play with magics best left alone-or so the neighbors told her after the funeral.

But the magic Luna witnessed wasn't just swishes of a wand or swirls of color; it was...well, _alive._ When she would hide behind a desk or a flower pot, she could actually feel the way the magic breathed against her skin and cloaked her in a warm embrace. Her mother used chalk to draw symbols of all kinds and she dropped colored stones everywhere. Every time her mother finished working on whatever it was she was doing, the air around her never changed. It stayed as heavy and thick with ambient magic as when she began and that, Luna thought, must have been when the magic began to cling tight.

She was four or five when she followed one of her mother's "expeditions" into their forest of a backyard. One second there was dirt beneath her toes and the next there was hard stone. Instead of seeing trees and feeling the wind play through her hair, Luna saw mountains of jewels and rivers of gold emerging from rock. She tilted her head back to stare up and up and was in awe at how it twisted all around her. She remembered reaching out to touch it-even though she knew it was too high up to feel it-and felt her fingers tangle in the softest thread she had ever felt. Her young eyes watched what looked like the magic her mummy played with reached out to her; it wrapped around her from the roots of her hair and down to splash against her toes.

That was definitely one of her favorite memories. But so was the delightful tea party she interrupted when she was eight and a half years old. This time, she wandered on her own. She found the soft, slivers of thread on her own and latched onto it with everything she had. She had shut her eyes tight when she felt herself tumble forward and her feet once again met cold stone. She briefly wondered if she'd see the man with big, warm coat again, but she was even more surprised to see tall, _glowing_ adults.

And they did glow! They glowed almost like the fireflies back home did: soft pulses of light that fluttered around. The lady with the nice hair reminded her of her mummy; she had a kind smile and warm eyes. She guessed the other man who called her "little moon" must have been the lady's husband; he felt like a nice person too.

But the mean-looking one...the one who stared at her much like her father did when he caught her sneaking to her room with cookies, he actually didn't feel so mean. There was a nearly identical, yet younger looking version of himself seated next to him. Now that one looked funny! _  
_

_Like a fish out of water,_ Luna thought to herself with a giggle. Oh, she remembered their faces well before she heard the jingle of bells that signaled it was time to go back home.

In truth, she almost wished she didn't go home that day. She wished she ignored the bells and stayed to enjoy the tea with the nice people who knew her name. Sighing, Luna placed the bouquet of odd flowers onto the grave. She watched as the dandelions that grew nearby were met with a sharp gust of wind. Her gaze followed the floating seed heads and a part of her wanted to follow them so badly, but she couldn't. There were more pressing matters to attend to. Her father was going to take her to Diagon Alley today to shop for school supplies and Luna really wanted to visit Gringotts.

She was determined to know if the gem she found all those years ago was actually _real._


	4. Eire

Eir·e  
noun  
1) The Irish name of Ireland

Luna wondered when exactly it was her mind started to wander.

If she had to guess, she'd think it was the day she stepped foot onto the Hogwarts castle grounds. Sweet Circe, but the _magic_ that flowed around her made her feel like someone has slipped her a drug while she was on the train. Her heart was ready to burst from her chest and dance a jig; she almost couldn't contain what almost felt like madness from escaping her.

And when she first walked _into_ the castle?

She nearly swooned from the pressure alone. The air felt heavy and thick with humidity and a light scent of cinnamon and sandalwood. It took her a few years to realize that Hogwarts actually had its own scent and that the scent was the castle's way of letting her know they were mutually aware of one another.

"Luna? Dear heart, are you coming in for supper or not? Bilbo is about to burst his buttons eating the food!"

The clouds cleared from her eyes and Luna slowly turned from staring at the rolling green hills of the Shire towards the loving couple who stared at her in exasperation.

"Hm?" She inquired loftily and giggled when Bungo huffed before bodily dragging her into the smial, mumbling about how one shouldn't stand outside during the rain when a home with a warm fire was steps away.

"'una!" chirped a young fauntling with copper hair and green eyes. He had drool dribbling down the side of his mouth and mashed potatoes in his hair. Luna laughed and lifted him into her arms. Maybe letting her mind wander wasn't so bad.

After all, all the wandering it did tended to find the happiest of memories for her.


	5. Venerable

ven·er·a·ble  
adjective  
1) commanding respect because of great age or impressive dignity; worthy of veneration or reverence  
2) impressive or interesting because of age, antique appearance, etc.

Most children would usually be startled to fall asleep in the hollow of an oak tree and wake up amidst the branches of a moving tree, but Luna was not most children. In fact, she quite liked trees. The ones behind her house were often her only comfort after her mother passed away; their branches were her playmates and their trunks gave her a place to sit and think.

Maybe it was why she bonded with the Threstrals at Hogwarts; they often offered her the same, silent comfort of just _being_ there.

"Harrummm...little butterfly, you should not be sleeping on the ground. Not safe for such light ones."

"I'm not a butterfly, silly. If I had known you would have almost stepped on me, I wouldn't have been sleeping on the ground at all."

"I am...mmmmm...glad you are aware of the danger. I will take you to Edoras. There are...mmmmm...more of your kind."

She looked up into the kind eyes of the Ent whose shoulder she was sitting on as he lifted a gnarled hand to gently stroke her hair.

"Do you think they'll like me?"

"They would...harummm...have to be foolish not to."


	6. Susurrant

su·sur·rant  
adjective  
Softly murmuring; whispering.

He had to keep checking that she wasn't an elf.

He knew she wasn't after how many times they'd coupled, but sometimes he wondered. She didn't speak like a woman of Man or Dwarf. Half the time he even wondered if she really listened to him when she spoke to him. And she was always staring off into the distance, seeing something that he knew he wouldn't be able to comprehend; it really was enough to wound his pride as a male to be unable to hold her attention for long.

Luna.

That was the name she had given him when she appeared sitting on the edge of his bed. She said that she often visited his family, hinting that she was older than she seemed. She couldn't have been of Númenórean descent-her hair was far too similar of that of the shieldmaidens of Edoras.

But at least she was of age.

That was something he made sure to find out before the first tumble between the sheets. He didn't get the exact age-who really could after his eyes rolled into the back of his head and ended up seeing stars? Luna. An apt name for someone who could send a dwarf to the moon and back with pleasure alone.

She slept peacefully beside him and he wondered when she would disappear on him. If she was who he thought she was, he wouldn't have much time left to spend with her. But even he had to admit that spending nearly all day worshiping her body was a great way to make the most of the time given.

"Fíli," she sighed his name and he could already feel himself harden at the tone she used. It was the same way she breathed his name right before he thought he was going to die every time they went at it.

Her eyes were slow to open and a frown turned her lips downward.

"I think I'll be leaving soon."

Oh. Well. There went another chance for one last go.

Trying not to show his disappoint, he leaned over her to place a kiss on her temple.

"S'alright, lover. I can't really feel my legs anymore anyway."

Something fierce sparked in her eyes and her lips quirked up into a smirk.

"I didn't say I was leaving just yet," she rolled herself on top of him, "and don't worry about your legs, my dear dwarf. You won't be using them."

Fíli briefly thought to himself, as the goddess above him moved to ride him, if his family would mind if he died this night. He knew he wouldn't mind at all.

Saucy minx.


	7. Totem

to·tem  
noun  
1) a natural object or an animate being, as an animal or bird, assumed as the emblem of a clan, family, group  
2) a representation of such an object serving as the distinctive mark of the clan or group

Contrary to popular belief, King Thrór was not insane.

It was perfectly normal for a King to lock himself in his throne room for hours at a time and emerge looking exhausted. Although, it did spark some nasty rumors about what he was doing in there; rumors also said he liked that pretty rock too much for his own good. Ridiculous. Only Thrór knew what he was doing in there and it wasn't as awful as the kingdom thought it was. Actually, it was as far away from lewd as they could imagine.

He never should have told her how to remove the Arkenstone from its place above the throne.

But she was just so delightful and she helped distract him from the troubles of being King and dealing with Thranduil. And she always did come after Thranduil left; apparently she had some decent blackmail against the Elvenking-that automatically put her in Thrór's good graces.

However, today she was not as delightful as usual. And she came garbed in black instead of her usual bright and eccentric colors. He thought the color suited the current atmosphere; he was sitting on his throne, reminiscing about the courtship of his wife-Aulë rest her soul-when the girl appeared, running through the solid stone doors as if they were curtains.

He heard the soft pitter-patter of the soles of her little boots as she all but flew into his arms and burst into tears. She had grown since he'd last seen her; she looked older and there was a darkness in her eyes that he never thought he'd see.

"Luna," they were on a first-name basis now since she outright refused to call him by his title, "what distresses you today?"

She had buried her face in the collar of his fur coat and let out a low keening that made his heart pulse in pain and he pulled her away from his face to get a better look at her.

"You wear the colors of mourning, Luna. Who has passed that upsets you so?"

Her lip trembled and the tears fell from her eyes in a constant stream. It had to be someone close to her heart for her to be this way and she still refused to speak to him. He knew not to push; especially when she reached above him and released the Arkenstone from its resting place.

Now just to be clear, there was a select few that Thrór trusted to physically handle the Arkenstone and that list was smaller than the amount of living relatives he had. But he allowed Luna because when she had first appeared to him, she asked why it was so important to him and all the reasons he gave her impossible for her young mind to comprehend, so he left it at that and gave in for her requests to hold it.

She turned it over in her hands and kept her gaze locked on to the shifting colors of the stone.

"M'mama," she mumbled so quietly he almost didn't catch it. She had stopped crying but her sniffles echoed in the quiet of the sealed throne room. "She was...like this. She was the heart of _my_ mountain."

Thrór wisely kept his mouth shut and gathered her in his arms so they could both sit comfortably on this throne. He took the Arkenstone in his hands and held it closer to her face. He wasn't stupid like his foolish grandchildren; he knew Luna was magical and had her way of leaving a piece of herself behind-a trinket here, a random bauble there-so this time, he was asking her to leave something to remember her by. He had a terrible feeling she would outlive him despite their vast difference in species and aging.

Luna stared at the shifting lights in the pretty rock. At least Thrór had a way to see his heart in front of him-she had nothing. Leaning forward, she placed a kiss on the smooth cut stone and felt the magic that usually clung to her slip free just a little. She and Thrór watched as the Arkenstone glowed a soft pink before the colors pulled themselves into a single point within the stone and became another one of the shifting colors.

Thrór didn't want to admit the feeling that built up in his chest when he saw Luna's magic become a part of the stone he treasured. It was similar to the dread he felt when he knew it was his wife's time to pass. With Luna in his arms, he stood from his throne and placed her onto the floor before him. Kneeling, he gathered her in his arms once more and embraced her and fiercely as he would embrace his son or grandchildren.

The King Under the Mountain could feel it in his bones: this would be the last time he would see the human child who soothed him.

Many years later, King Thrór raged to the heavens the day he lost the Arkenstone to Smaug the Terrible. He no longer cared about the gold that flew through the air as the fire drake dove into the treasury and claimed his home. No, all he cared for was that glisten of pink that twinkled at him before it was lost and his cry of despair was muted by Smaug's roar of victory.

"LUNA!"


End file.
